The world's a terrifying place; Shrouded Mountain, the Silent Moors, the Ice Meadows… there's no end of deadly environments on Tsanderos.

But never underestimate people. They'll live anywhere. Seems to me that the worse a place is, the more dangerous the men and women that make it out are. Grimmer the North came striding out of the Ice Meadows one day, and the Salazar Coast has been piss-scared of him ever since. Not much you can do to a man that's worse than a childhood spent in freezing misery picking off the dead carcasses of waylaid ships.

That's why the Sarhail nearly wiped us all out. They came out of the Southern Deltas, so deep that even the flies will kill a man. No surprise they kicked our arses. Is what it is, I suppose. Just be glad you live in the heartlands, hey boy? Means you're unlikely to meet a man like that.

But if you ever do, run for the fucking hills, you hear me?

…

Anyway, enough about that. Happy birthday! I got you this little ball in a cup. You play it like this, see?

- Guard Captain Ischus Travail on his nephew's 16th Colchet, circa .211

"As far as plans go, this sucks," I grumped, trudging along through the sodden grass, seed pods whipping me in the chest as they were blown about on the top of their long stalks by the wailing wind.

Nathlan was listening with only half an ear, muttering to himself and tracing invisible lines in the air with his hands, so I was unsurprised at the grunt I received in reply. He'd been at it for most of the morning, attempting to construct a weather-ward to keep himself dry. I'd learned several new curses from him in the process as he wrestled with his magic, so at least there was a silver lining to the lashing rain. The satisfied swagger he'd adopted since achieving his new class was long gone, and his shoulders were so slumped by this point it was almost comical.

Apparently, a combat class with only a single active Skill to compliment the old magic of his home was far less optimal than a support class refined over centuries to concentrate specifically on ward-craft. Who could have known?

Where before I'd witnessed him set multiple wards at differing ranges with varied sensitivities, now he was struggling to create a single vaguely opaque one centred on his person. Of course, I had no real frame of reference for the difficulty, but I was under the impression from odd comments dropped by Jorge that to be able to manipulate free-flowing magic to such a degree as Nathlan was doing, without the requisite Skills from a supporting class, was nothing short of genius.

Nathlan was still soaked through like me though, so what was a superior education and genius intellect really worth in the end?

Vera was striding along next to us with a stiff back and the same resolute stoicism that I was used to seeing from her. I detected a slight scent of wood-smoke from her though, and the air seemed to sizzle around her frame, so I was fairly sure she was using her aura Skill to keep her hair and armour warm, if not dry.

Despite my jealousy, I couldn't really blame her. Thin, bitterly cold raindrops were driving into our faces, no matter which way we turned our heads. Water coated every long blade of grass and splashed against our legs as we waded through the waist high sea of green. Visibility was still alright somehow, the horizon grey and somewhat light, but that only made things worse – instead of hope for something new, the endless expanse of sodden grass served as a constant reminder that there was no escape from the dreary dampness.

It was the sort of weather that could not be enjoyed, merely tolerated. Unless you were Jorge, that is. He was whistling a cheery tune to himself as he walked beside us, hands in his pockets and clothes enviably dry.

A few inches from his body, water ran in rivulets down an invisible shield, such that he appeared to be outlined by flowing translucent armour. My eyes traced a single drop of rain as it fell just above his forehead and joined a river flooding down past his neck and onto his shoulder, where it beaded up and dripped to the ground as he moved. He caught my eye and gave a jaunty wave, rolling a grass stalk from one side of his mouth to the other.

I had never wanted to kill a man more in my entire life.

The weather was unceasing, and would likely stick around for another week or so at least. This was the other side of the beautiful steppes we travelled through – monsoon season. Without a fancy rain repellent Skill of some sort, I was left to the mercy of mundane waterproof fabric. While I was impressed with the ability of the loaned poncho I was wearing to protect my torso from the rain, it could do nothing to prevent my lower thighs from being soaked through by the grass that seemed determined to splatter its watery payload against my legs.

I had tried to hate the grasses for their role, but I had to admit that without their ability to bind together the soil, our steady trudge through endless grassland would be more of a sucking limp though fields of mud.

In any case, it was safe to say I wasn't having a good time, and so I let my mind wander to the near future, and the plan we had discussed a few days ago. Jorge had outlined it simply enough. He had contacts in the capital of the Copper Canyons that were heavily involved in information gathering or other sneaky spy work. He didn't use those words of course, but I got the gist of it.

The Crimson Lions were known to operate out of Colchet as well, and Jorge suspected his contacts would be able to pinpoint the location of their safehouse, for the right price, of course. There was not much point planning an ambush at this stage before we gathered at least some rudimentary information about the Lions and their presence in the Copper Canyons, and so the current version of the plan was basically;

Step 1 – get to Colchet.

Step 2 – let Jorge do his thing.

Step 3 – pending.

The strategic genius of my companions couldn't be understated.

It was dreary work, trudging through the unchanging plains, and nobody had much desire for conversation. That wasn't entirely a bad thing though, as it gave me more time to familiarise myself with my now 'complete' set of Skills. Of course, it wasn't as if I wouldn't incorporate new Skills and evolve my current ones to be broader or more powerful, but now that I had filled every open Skill slot, I could analyse my current 'build' as it were.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I had a rare class that granted me a slight advantage in attributes right out of the gate, and the fact it was a combat class and not a support one further increased that advantage, as well as ensured the Skills I learned from my class were relatively powerful. From some early questioning of Jorge weeks ago, it seemed the average attribute gain per level for a standard support class ranged from one to three per level, so my five was already an incredible advantage. There was a reason why combat classes were beneficial, despite their heavy costs.

The drawback was that levelling both the class Skills and general Skills required combat, and more importantly, danger. By dint of that fact, there was not much room for experimentation, as taking too much of a risk would likely see you dead or stalled out, unable to progress without dying. There was wiggle room of course, but it was a fine line between making decisions to benefit you in the short term versus taking a long view of things.

Focus too heavily on short-term boosts and you'd find yourself with a mess of Skills that didn't mesh together well and no way to easily progress past the soft Skill cap of level 10. Conversely, too much focus on building a powerful and versatile skillset that would come into its own only at a high level would leave you stuck in the early levels, unable to survive the tough encounters you needed to propel you through the levels to greatness.

I had so far distributed my attribute enhancements fairly equally throughout the five attributes. I'd originally done so out of necessity, experience teaching me that letting my attributes fall too far out of alignment would cripple me. Strength let me move faster, but without agility, I'd be unable to use it effectively. If my perception was too low, I'd miss crucial sensory information, and impact unseen obstacles during combat and day-to-day movement. Too little cognition and I'd be unable to process the wave of sensory information quick enough and react to the world around me. Too little agility and my movements would be so uncoordinated and unrefined that I'd risk hurting myself even if I did see the threat and decide to avoid it in time. And without the necessary endurance, I'd burn myself out from using my enhanced attributes and be left with nothing left in the tank.

It turned out I had been right about the nature of the danger, but I'd massively over-estimated the magnitude of it and so failed to see the benefits of specialising. Many of the shortfalls I'd worried about could be mitigated with training, if not overcome entirely. Somebody with twice or even three times the strength to agility ratio would not be able to muster the grace and control of their movements that my current distribution allowed – they'd never be considered much of a dancer, for example – but they would likely have no issue overpowering somebody of a similar level. They could learn to function in day to day life, and their overwhelming power may see them through in combat.

The same argument could be made for all attributes, although Jorge did note that the more physical attributes of strength, agility and endurance were easier to directly link to specific combat advantages. Not all battles were fought physically though, and support classes were so overwhelming more common than combat classes that most of the conventional wisdom was geared towards them. High perception alone may not win a battle, but it certainly made life easier for a jeweller, an antiques trader, or an archaeologist.

Ultimately, his advice was to continue specialising, but slowly. Do what felt intuitive and see how my path progressed naturally. Strength, and to a lesser extent agility, were clearly the primary attributes I relied on, and so there was no harm in gradually increasing the ratio of those to the other attributes. I had them to spare, as he had pointed out, and so I could stand to keep the endurance, perception and cognition roughly in line with others of my level even with the heavily emphasis on agility and strength. Hardly seemed fair when I thought of it like that, but my life expectancy was a lot shorter than my competition, given how I gained levels, so perhaps that evened things out.

So, days of introspection and contemplation. Searching within myself to see how my nature manifested in my actions. It was a difficult thing; to honestly look at oneself and see the flaws and benefits both. I was passive, in many ways. Decisive in others, no doubt, but the passivity was something I knew I'd need to address.

It wasn't new, either. I couldn't remember my old life, but when examining my actions in this new world, it became obvious what was old instinct and what was new. I had a tendency to allow decisions to be made for me, whether that was by others or the environment itself, it mattered not.

It was easy to mistake as decisiveness, at first glance, which sounded contradictory. However, after much deliberation, it was clear that I waited until circumstances forced me into a decision before I'd make one. Rather than take an active role in planning and pick from multiple options, I would continue to follow along the path set before me until fate forced me choose something.

But I'd changed since being stolen from my reality and plopped down in Tsanderos by the whim of a distant deity. I'd been brutalised in the truest sense. The constant fighting and violence, the loneliness; it had made me into a brutal thing. I had been rediscovering my humanity since finding companions, but that long, painful journey from the Unclaimed Peaks to the trading outpost had scraped away many of the complexities instilled on my psyche by polite society. I was still raw, and my reactions showed it.

I was still passive and easy going, but now I had a tendency to make a snap decision and stick with it, regardless of whether it was a good idea. That's where the feeling of decisiveness came from, it seemed. I would let myself be carried along by the world until a choice needed to be made, then I'd pick the only option left to me and consider it my own. But in reality, it was little more than an animal's choice – reacting to the world around me without understanding, planning no further into the future than my immediate problems.

It was a difficult thing to accept; a flaw in the centre of my being. I was passive, a leaf in the wind, swept along in the current of fate and seldom looking up to see which way the river flowed. Most of a day was spent moping over that realisation before Vera slapped me on the back of the head and told me to get over it. 'All blades are double-edged in the end,' she'd told me, and while I hadn't shared my thoughts with her, the words nevertheless seemed to be what I needed to hear.

Yes, I'd found a real flaw in my character that had caused real harm in my life and would undoubtably do so again. But it also had its benefits. When paired with the new trauma-induced panic response I'd oh so helpfully developed, I was decisive. Because I waited until a choice needed to be made, I wasted no time deliberating on the right course of action. Sure, I lost out on better options in doing so, but it meant that when a choice needed to be made, I made one and committed to it with everything I had. I spent far more time doing things than thinking about them, and that had paid off so far.

During those first weeks trapped alone in the wilderness, lack of future planning was also a massive help. If I had spent too much time considering what I would do in detail, the hopelessness and uncertainty would have stolen all my will to survive. As it was, I was able to just put one foot in front of the other. So, it was a double edged sword, as Vera had said. Remould myself to cover the flaw of my passiveness, and I would also lose that in-the-moment decisiveness I had come to rely on.

And so my long days of introspection in the rain helped hammer home Jorge's lesson that before seeking to change something, you first had to understand it. By the time the rain eased and the weather brightened, I had achieved a level of self-awareness that I'd never had before, and a confidence in my own mind and decisions that helped ground me somehow. I was still far from seeing how my disparate Skills and class could be unified into a defining approach or idea, but it wasn't a problem for me to solve yet anyway.

First, understand the self. The rest will follow in time.

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